


Rotting

by FurryHellspawn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Forgive Me, Implied Sexual Content, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurryHellspawn/pseuds/FurryHellspawn
Summary: Kylo is a delusional maniac who accidentally kills rey and covets her body.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Rotting

The body was beginning to smell by now. It had laid there in the bed, surrounded by candles and flowers, for a long time. Long enough that the putrescent fluid pools off of the mattress, slicks the floor around the display with viscous slime. Her skull was sunken in, a eyeball peeking out from a matted mess of dark hair and brainmatter. Her body was a husk of itself, the starvation pre-mortem having done a number on her previously feminine shapes. The sheet that covers her is thick with flies, fat and hungering. The sound is a constant murmur in the backgroud of the gruesome scene, accompanied by the rich, sweet scent of rotting flesh that seemed to cling to everything around her. 

Kylo looks down at her ruined face and sighs, reaching out a gloved hand to brush back her hair. It comes off in a sheet in his hand, scalp loose and thick with fluid. He withdraws his hand and wipes it off on his side, scowling for a moment. “I didn’t mean to.” he says softly. “I hope you know that, Rey. I didn’t mean to do this to us.” 

The corpse doesn’t respond. 

He thinks back to her memories, what little he had seen before he had imploded her skull with his mind, and feels something strange rise up in him. Something had upset him, something had made him uncontrollably angry, and had made him do this to her. It was one of his only regrets, not even the death of the hosnian galaxy weighed on him nearly as much as his solitary accidental murder. 

He wonders aloud if there’s anything worth living for anymore and watches as the maggots writhe under the translucent slickness of her exposed flesh, writhe on her fat tongue and weave through her body. He envies their bodily contact with her. He would take advantage of the situation if he could, in that way, but he’s already got off in her three times by now and he’s sure her body would cave in if he tried it again. He doesn’t like maggots anyway. 

What had made him so upset? What had caused him to do this? It was simple, really. He saw her memories, he saw her everything, and he found her wanting. She wasn’t beautiful anymore, now that he had read all that her mind had to offer, bared her to himself in whole. He was upset that she was someone that he had never known- his constant fantasizing since he had first seen her had led him into a sort of limbo, where he found himself fallen in love with a figment of his imagination. She wasn’t real, not like how he wanted her. She was foul, impure, disgusting. There was no feminine grace in her walk, nor flirtation in her mind- she had never considered him at all, and for this she had to die. It was simple, really. He wished it was that simple. 

He inhaled slowly, the smell of her filling his chest. It was disgusting, making him have to hold back from dry heaving at times, but intoxicating all the same. The scent was his favorite part. He felt himself get hard, just inhaling, just watching the slow motion under her flesh. She was physically the best thing he had ever had laid with, the most silent and accepting lover he had ever had. Of course, she was dead by then, but what did it matter? She was all his. She was no one elses but his, now. And he had her how he knew her, a figment, not the flighty reality


End file.
